


Three Simple Rules

by beedekka



Category: Road House (1989)
Genre: Clothed Sex, M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beedekka/pseuds/beedekka
Summary: It's 1974 and Dalton's getting to grips with being mentored by the legendary Wade Garrett.  He's having a wild and rewarding ride.
Relationships: Dalton/Wade Garrett
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Three Simple Rules

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna/gifts).



1\. _Never underestimate your opponent. Expect the unexpected._

Sweat ran down Dalton’s back and his fingers twitched with the anticipation to go for Wade’s wrist and jerk him out of his guard. Of course, Wade caught the tell immediately and Dalton watched his wily smile broaden as he ducked away.

“C’mon kiddo, you just about hailed a damn cab right then. Smarten up!”

Dalton shook his damp fringe out of his eyes and bounced on the balls of his feet, returning his attention to Wade’s hands. He felt ready for whatever move his partner might make, but after a few seconds it seemed none was going to be forthcoming, and Dalton thought about trying for the same grab again.

“Are we in an auction house? Or is it a restaurant, hmm? Do you want the bill now, sir? Should I bring out the cake?”

“Fuck you, Wade,” Dalton growled in response, although there was no heat behind it. As infuriating as sparring with him could be, the criticism seemed well warranted; if Dalton's intentions were showing that clearly, he deserved the teasing. He briefly considered being a cocky little sonofabitch himself and making the fucking grab anyway, as brazenly – and hopefully successfully – as he could manage it, but Wade was practically laughing at him by this point.

“Third time’s the charm, eh? Stick with it, you’ll get there, Champ! I’m rootin’ for you.”

“Okay, okay.” Dalton grinned, dropping back a step. “I get it. Try my luck with someth—”

 _Bang._ And Wade was right up in his face with a punch that whistled millimeters past his jawline, a simultaneous leg sweep taking Dalton off balance and sending him sprawling flat on his ass with a bump. He lay there dazed for a second, staring blearily up at Wade while his lungs tried to work out what had happened to all the breath that was just inside them, then he closed his eyes and let the acceptance settle over him like a blanket.

“That would’ve been a straight TKO, baby,” Wade observed. “Twenty seconds? Thirty seconds in? You’re gonna have me starting to think I was talking to myself all these months.”

“Not fair,” Dalton told him, eyes still closed, hoping his face didn’t look quite as red as it felt. “If it wasn’t you, I wouldn’t have backed up like that.”

“What, ‘cause some random punk ain’t gonna be mouthing off at you, too? Anyway, you retreat on anyone and they’re gonna think about following you, Dalton. Remember: there’s no such thing as a fair fight… and _definitely_ not between friends by the way, so you make sure you’re not squaring up to me with some idea of respect in your head the next time we’re doing this.” He gave Dalton’s inside calf a nudge, bare toes tickling his skin. “Wanna go again right now?”

 _Nope._ The floor was surprisingly comfortable, and he wanted a cigarette more than another round of finding out all the ways Wade Garrett was so fucking good at what he did. Not that it wasn’t endlessly fascinating – and _damn_ was Dalton learning an encyclopedia’s worth of gold from him every day – but sometimes a rest was as good as a change (or whatever other backwards-ass saying Wade would’ve come up with if he was the one lying in a heap next to his own beaten ego). “You’ve been kicking my ass and bruising my pride for the last two hours,” Dalton murmured. “Let me be for a bit.”

He heard Wade chuckle, deep and fond, and that almost made the pain in his lower back feel worth it. _Almost_.

“Hey, you know I could have actually connected on that punch – given you a real lesson in what happens when you let someone talk you into losing a fight before it’s hardly begun. Don’t even listen to the bullshit; it’s just background noise.”

Wade’s footsteps moved away, soft on the wooden floor as he wandered to the side of the room, and after a beat of silence Dalton rolled over and up onto his knees, stretching his shoulders and grimacing as his muscles protested the effort. Wade was standing with his back to him, gathering his fight-messy hair into a better ponytail and tightening the elastic, and Dalton was pleased to see that at least he wasn’t the only one of them finishing their sparring session with a few strands out of place.

He carried on watching as Wade bent gracefully to the pile of street clothes they’d changed out of earlier, reaching right into Dalton’s jacket and retrieving his Marlboro’s from the pocket.

“There you go; I know you want ‘em.” Wade turned and tossed the pack, followed by the lighter, and Dalton’s reflexes were thankfully smooth enough to snag each of them clean. He lit one and savored the warm taste and the satisfaction of a workout coming to an end, if not exactly on a victorious note, at least with a feeling of being somewhere further ahead than he was yesterday.

Getting mentored by Wade Garrett was definitely a wild ride.

***

2\. _Take it outside. Never start anything inside the bar unless it’s absolutely necessary._

Outside on the street, a thin, feeble snow was falling, lightly dusting the sidewalk before dissolving into nothing under the feet of passers-by. The window they were seated beside was ringed by a string of gaudy Christmas lights and steamed up with condensation, and Dalton was glad for the warmth seeping into him through the combined efforts of the heating vents and the volume of jovial patrons packing out the happy hour of the sports bar, all beer breath and secondhand smoke.

Wade was sitting across from him, carefully arranged on the wooden bench like he was only fitting there because three fifths of his legs were splayed out into the aisle-way for the waitresses to hop over on each pass to the kitchen. It was an accident waiting to happen, and Dalton wasn’t so sure a lap full of pretty waitress and fries would’ve been an entirely unwelcome addition to Wade’s evening.

They were on their second beers of the night, and that was just enough to soothe the residual tension in Dalton’s muscles from the training session to a pleasant ache. It was nice to be in a bar without working it for once, and he was enjoying deliberately not paying any attention to the people around him. Sometimes when they went out socially, Wade would pause their conversation to draw his attention to some sort of instructive situation – something a customer was doing that looked innocuous enough but invariably turned into a ‘didn’t I just call that?’ scenario a few moments down the line, but it didn’t seem like he was really paying any attention to the rest of the room, either.

Wade finished the last swallow of the bottle in his hand with a flourish and caught Dalton’s eye, jostling him from his thoughts. “Did I tire you out?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re all quiet on me. I’m about to start wondering what I did to piss you off without realizing it. I know it’s not knocking you on your ass however many times earlier on, ‘cause you’re smarter than to hold onto that for longer than a minute.”

Dalton finished his bottle and smiled. “I’m reflecting, not pissed.” He gestured around them. “It’s relaxing here; I like it.”

“It’s easy going.” Wade swung one leg in from its aisle position and bumped Dalton’s knee with his own. “Another drink?”

He nodded. “Yeah, sure.” It was their night off, so why not get a little loose? Maybe, if Dalton was lucky it would end up going the way their nights off did occasionally, and he’d get to have more than just Wade’s knee pressed up against him. And maybe he was also still telegraphing his every damn thought to the man, because Wade suddenly gave a surprised laugh, his eyes sparkling with something bright and knowing.

“No, I didn’t tire you out at all, did I?” he rumbled. “I didn’t tire you out _at all_.”

Then he was up and on his way to the bar, and Dalton found himself watching him from behind once more, all lean muscle and rumpled edges. A couple of months ago it might’ve seemed strange to feel so comfortable looking at Wade’s body like that; not because he was a guy (David Bowie had taken good care of that question for Dalton back while he was still in college) but because to all intents and purposes he was Dalton’s boss. Yet Wade had certainly never seemed to mind mixing business and pleasure, and Dalton figured that was just consistent with his apparent entire worldview; something like: ‘if you can enjoy yourself, do it, and don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks about it.’ It was a bold way to live, though it seemed to work for him well enough… and it hadn’t caused them any problems yet.

The evening was passing quickly, and while the happy hour was over, the heat inside the bar was still holding up – not least because Wade was in fine convivial flow now, and laser-focused on Dalton. The condensation on the window glass had run down and pooled so much that Dalton thought the Christmas lights might fuse, and he kind of knew the feeling; just sitting back and letting Wade be Wade at him for a little while – letting his deep drawl, rich with curses, soak into him – Dalton got to appreciate the full weight of his charm. He could see why so many women melted when he flirted with them, and why so many men didn’t know how to take him. Friend? Father-figure? Someone to fight? Someone to fu—

“Hey, are you busy ‘reflecting’ again, or have I just told this one too many times before?” Wade asked, interrupting his own anecdote with a wry smile.

Dalton had been watching his lips throughout the story, so he was pretty sure Wade knew he _had_ been paying attention to what he’d been saying, just maybe not quite in the obvious way.

“Sorry,” Dalton murmured, with questionable sincerity. “I let myself get distracted listening to your voice.”

“Is that right? Seems like you’re making a habit of that today.”

“Turns out.”

“Are you still thinking of grabbing my wrist, as well?” Wade fixed him with a loaded gaze, and even in all of the heat, Dalton found that his skin could still shiver. “Hm?” Wade continued smoothly. “What would you do if you got hold of it? Where would you put my hand?”

Dalton stared at him for a second, contemplating.

“Would you get me to put it on you, somewhere on your body? Or would you try and keep me still; pin my arms out of the way so you can do whatever you want?”

 _All of those._ All of those things sounded good.

Wade arched a brow, and Dalton felt his stomach curl a little in anticipation of where this conversation was probably going to end them up. They weren’t skirting around it anymore – they were at the stage where it was smart to move somewhere else.

“Let’s take it outside of here, and you can find out,” Dalton told him. 

***

3\. _Be nice._

The alleyway behind the building wasn’t the most salubrious of locations, but when they hustled each other through the back door of the bar and out into the cool night, Dalton’s senses sharpened like a knife and all he could feel was the insistent _want_ to touch Wade’s skin and push his body against something as soon as possible; to get him still and take his fill of him. The sparring session had apparently left him with a vestigial desire to remind Wade that he had some techniques that could get him at _his_ mercy as well.

There was a fire escape balcony above them, and between that and the height of the buildings, the feeble rain wasn’t making it down to ground level. Instead, a bank of extractors set into the wall beside them was billowing out clouds of steam along with the sound of dishes clattering and music playing. It made it easy for them to hide themselves away in the shadows and carry right on where they’d left off inside.

Without the slightest warning, Dalton went straight for Wade’s wrist, catching the worn leather cuff he favored over wearing a watch. Dalton had wondered if that meant anything ever since they met, but who knew with Wade; he had an odd sense of style – like the tattoo on his bicep: a rose for a Rose – or the studied carelessness of wearing a designer shirt completely untucked, unbuttoned, rolled-up, showing off every scar it could have covered. Dalton used his grip and his body to maneuver Wade towards the wall, and Wade let him do it, let him press his captured arm to the brickwork and hold it there while he used his other hand to jerk Wade’s belt open and get his fingers to the button on his jeans.

“Not gonna kiss a guy first?” Wade asked him, amusement lacing his words. “The way you were looking at my lips earlier, I figured I was going to get a feast.”

“Mmm, you can have one all night if you want to invite me back to your place after this,” Dalton told him, “but right now, maybe I’m interested in something a little less ‘romantic’.”

“Yeah? Is that what gets you hot?” Wade’s voice was suddenly even lower, more seductive. “A fast fuck in an alley behind a bar? Still waters run deep…”

Dalton’s face flushed, half at the tease and half at the truth; he wouldn’t actually let himself do it while he was working at a club or a bar, but something about the risk – about wanting someone so much and so immediately that you just couldn’t wait – it made him tick, and _damn_ , he sure wanted Wade at that moment.

Enough that he was willing to give him a bit of what he was asking for in return. Dalton didn’t take his hands away from either Wade’s arm or his fly, but he stepped in closer and angled his jaw up to give him a messy kiss. The satisfaction when he felt it take Wade’s breath away a little and start him hardening under Dalton’s palm was enough to turn the flush into a steady burn thrumming in his veins and get his own cock shifting and swelling.

Wade’s free arm slid around Dalton’s back and down to his ass to try and pull them even further together, urging him to slot his thigh between Wade’s legs exactly where it would give them both something to push against, and Dalton was happy enough to oblige. He broke the kiss as he did, though, pulling away and grinning when Wade attempted to chase his lips to keep it going. “Wait, you wanna do it like this?” Dalton asked, giving his hips a firm flex to accent the inquiry. “‘Cause I was gonna suck your cock.”

“Like you said, we got all night if you come back to my place; you can do anything you like to my cock. Here and now, I’ve got a hot guy up against me in a cold alley and I can feel how ready to go you are, so I’m going to try my luck and ask you to do something that’ll make a dry cleaner weep.”

“Wade Garrett, you’re fucking filthy, you know that?” Dalton laughed, but he didn’t hesitate to set up a rough rhythm that probably wasn’t going to take very long to get the desired result, especially when Wade got into counterpoint with it as easily as if they were dancing together rather than desperately sharing all their heat, friction and tension in the wintry shadows. It was somehow simultaneously pragmatic and debauched, and if that didn’t just describe the man he was jammed up against perfectly, Dalton wouldn’t know what did.

Then the hand that had settled on his ass a moment ago was suddenly curving around the back of his neck and drawing him in for another indulgent kiss, so Dalton went with it and concentrated on the half-competing, half-complimentary sensations of Wade’s yielding mouth on his, and the firm and inescapable pressure of his thigh against Dalton’s straining cock. His rhythm started to stutter as the tug of pleasure became more and more intense, and he could feel Wade shift to keep it going and bring him over the edge, riding out the sudden shudder of Dalton’s hips and swallowing the embarrassingly wanton moan his orgasm pulled from his throat like it was the crescendo to the kiss itself.

Afterwards they held each other in place for a moment, catching their breath and calming down, and it took Dalton a few seconds to realize that his fingers were still around Wade’s wrist, loosely circling the leather cuff. It seemed significant somehow; how he’d been strong in his impulse to take and keep a hold of him today – _something_ in his subconscious coming through not too subtly, Dalton thought.

“So now I get to take you home?” Wade asked, his expression loaded with promise.

“Oh yeah,” Dalton nodded. “That would be nice.” 

-fin.


End file.
